Love's ScalpelCupid's Arrow
by GirlUndefined
Summary: Yang is lost. Burke has come back to SGH as Chief and he hasn't spoken to her once - clearly, he's moved on to better? things. Two years later, she begins her search for recovery; maybe to move on, perhaps just to figure out how to survive without him.


**Disclaimer: Don't own, never have, never will. **

**Reviews are always appreciated… **

**Especially constructive ones.**

I was standing naked in front of a crowd. My heart was breaking out of my chest and it hurt. It hurt like nothing I'd ever experienced before.

Switch. Now, I'm lying on a bed of nails and every single sharp point is piercing my skin, and the blood is pouring, and no one's helping me. 

And the final scene – I lie on the chopping block, and the axe is descending in slow motion… it's coming… it's coming… and it's made contact, and like so many others before me, my head is separated from my body, my blood staining the solid concrete of rest, and every inch of me screams in protest…

Oh, forgive me. I'm just having one of my violent little nightmares. Except for this time, it's all real. It's all happening right here, and while the pain I feel isn't literally physical, I wish it was. I'd rather be in all those torturous situations than the one I'm facing right now.

Burke. _My _Burke. _My _Preston Burke, _my _cardio-genius-lover, is in the arms of another. And not just _any _other – he's in the arms of the very bane of my existence, the one thing that stands between me and cardio paradise. Her name is Erica Hahn. Until recently, she was believed to be a lesbian. 

Look at that man nose. Look that that hydrant hair, that masculine leather jacket, those big klutzy hands that don't look like they could even coordinate in everyday life, much less perform magic on the most beautiful and vital organ of all – the heart.

I'm no beauty, but compared to Dr. Han, I find myself to be exceedingly gorgeous. 

And Burke; he's happy. That's what's killing me from the inside out right now, killing me with the most powerful weapon of all, chiseling a perfect jagged line down the center of my heart. He's happy in her arms. There's this look of bliss on his face that I never saw when he was with me. What did I not offer him? Was I not a good enough surgeon? I was only an intern when we were dating, for Christ's sake! I was pretty darn good for an intern. And as a Resident – man, I kicked butt during that time of my career, too.

The last time you saw me, I was somewhere around hysterically tearing off my wedding gown after having been left at the alter, or going through a slow recovery with a façade of mental strength as a Resident at SGH. Well, if you can handle it, skip two years past that. Now I am Dr. Cristina Yang, a woman of 100 cardio-orientation. The newcomer in the department, if I do say so myself – I'm tearing it up, putting a new face on Seattle Grace's program. The one thing that's weighing me down is – him, and her. Together.

As an Attending, I have the authority to walk over and sit at the same table as them without feeling inferior. I'm of the same class now – I might even surpass their surgical brilliance one day, one day _soon._ But until the day I defy them, I don't think I'll ever be able to go over and sit at that table without crying. Even though technically, I could.

"Cristina?" It's Meredith's puppy voice, the one that says 'Oh, no, I'm so concerned, but I can't empathize because my head is up Dr. McDreamy's a-hole.'

In case you missed out on that part of the continuous SGH lovers' drama, McDreamy and Mer are back together, going at it harder than ever, and living in this impossibly posh apartment on the ritzy side of America's rainiest city. Not only are they back together, but check this out – Mer and Addison are friends. Actual, text-message, email, meet-up-for-a-girls-luncheon _friends! _I never got involved in their psycho little friendship, but I hear that Addison's doing well at her New Age hospital, all up with some quack named Pete, still delivering babies and stuff. I don't know, but I never liked that woman much. When I think of it, she kind of looks like Hahn, but maybe it's just the hair.

"Yes?" I ask absently, diverting my attention from my bitterness over Meredith's suddenly-successful love life to the actual Meredith. She's really cleaned up since moving in with McDreamy. No more random Band-Aids on her face, no more food in her hair – a fresh, clean look for a fresh, clean relationship. And even though she's not sitting at the same table with him (Izzie, Alex, George, Mer, and I are sitting at one table while Callie, McSteamy ((aka Mark Sloane, remember him?)), Bailey, McDreamy, Hahn, and Burke are sitting at another table), everyone can feel the chemistry that radiates between them 24/7; except, maybe, them two; but then again they don't need to feel the chemistry because they are the chemistry.

"Don't stare," she scolds gently. 

Dang, she caught me AGAIN. Recently Meredith's been looking over me like a hawk, seeing when I show any signs of looking at Burke and his happy Hahn. If you're wondering, yes he did come back – obviously. He came back last year, when I was starting off as an Attending. He came back to haunt me and ruin my chances at happiness. He came back, suddenly became Chief of Surgery (Richard's living the Good Life in Aruba with Adele) and hasn't said a single word to me since his arrival. He's trying to be classy about it, but in the process has scarred my feelings for life.

Izzie reaches over and takes my hand. It would be sweet, but you know that I – Dr. Yang – do not appreciate emotional frivolities. I smack her hand away. "I'm not a lesbian," I say coldly.

The look in her eyes is offended, and I begin to form an apology, but she waves me off. Izzie gets it. We've been together two long to _not _get each other. I mean, even though she was a celebrity and all, Izzie isn't very high-maintenance. She only has a couple of ground rules. They include:

Don't mention Denny Duquette – EVER. 

Eat whatever ridiculously high-calorie thing she's baked.

Don't mention her Bethany Whisper ads.

Or her daughter.

And, at any time possible, bring up her rock star performance a couple years ago when the ferry crashed; when she drilled open a guy's skull single-handedly.

George smiles at me awkwardly. He means to be comforting, but McCuddly doesn't know how to deal with sadistic types like me. 

Alex is the only one who doesn't show any sign of acknowledging my pain. This is the part where Alex and I connect – probably the ONLY part where Alex and I connect. We both know that some things just don't need comforting from certain people. Can you imagine how awkward it would be if Karev ever tried to speak nicely to me? It would be horrible. The only person he's ever sweet-talked is Izzie, when Denny died, and when they had their little thing going on. If he was ever nice to anyone else, people would wonder if he was on drugs.

Oh – and everyone saw his sappy-eyed loving with Ava, who later became Rebecca. I guess after she became Rebecca, and her husband emerged, he lost interest. After the last time she appeared at SGH, spoke to Lexi Grey in the gallery, and then disappeared for her last night with Alex, no one speaks of her. Clearly he hasn't seen her, and she's probably forgotten her Seattle escapade.

Speaking of Lexi – she's a Resident now, managing her own bevy of overly-helpful suck-ups, otherwise known as interns. She seems to be handling things pretty well. She's rooming with two other Residents, and the three of them remind me of Mer, George and Izzie when they lived together. A quick catch-up: everyone lives alone now except for Mer and McDreamy. We all separated and grew up, getting our own space. George has this real nice apartment, Meredith sold Ellis Grey's house, and Izzie is living just a couple streets away from George in this very economy-style place, but she makes it nice and homey, and it always smells like something in the oven. 

"Cristina, snap out of it," Meredith advises wisely. "It's almost time to get back from lunch, and you can't perform a surgery looking like the Walking Dead."

Oh, right, surgeries. Back to reality; back to my life. I have a couple quickies this afternoon, nothing big or exciting. While I'm doing a running whipstitch or whatever the patient calls for, I'll still be thinking of Burke, and how it felt to be standing close to him and being his second hand. That feeling – that exhilarating rush – is unforgettable. I wonder if he still remembers.

"Maybe you need a cookie," Izzie suggests. My laugh is a sardonic bark. The funniest thing is, Izzie isn't joking. For her, answers are so simple. They lay in eggs and batter and Martha Stewart's latest cookbook. For me, answers are… everywhere that you can't find them.

"Back to the slumming, everyone," George announces cheerily. Gee, I wonder how the guy can seem so unaffected. He divorced his wife for nothing. Shouldn't that count for at least a small amount of sadness?

All five of us clear our trays and head back into the hospital. Immediately, the smell of sterilization, blood and vomit come flooding back. Warm relief spreads through me – that scent is like my personalized air freshener. All the things that I need to survive. 

"Step-sister, twelve o'clock," George warns Meredith considerately. She ducks behind a nurse counter as Lexi approaches, flanked by her five newbies. 

"Beth, you're covering the pit," she instructs them. As she passes us, she noticeably scans the faces for Meredith's – that girl never gives up – and when she sees nothing, she simply nods and continues walking away, talking quickly, moving quicker. 

"She's handling things well," Alex notes appreciatively. He found enough kindness in his body to stop sleeping with Lexi for Meredith's sake, but he makes it no secret that he still thinks she's 'smoking'. I find it vaguely disgusting, but I have to agree. She has a good hang of things.

"She's no Nazi, though," George counters. Wonderful George, always sticking up for Mer-Bear…

Meredith emerges from her hiding place, checks that it's a safe zone, and we all continue our journey back to the Board. "You guys probably don't get why I'm so bent on avoiding her," she notes. We all agree, but are afraid of saying anything. Is this a Meredith Rhetorical Question? Or is she hoping for us to all say, "No, of course, we all understand why you're neglecting your step-sister though she has done nothing wrong to you?"

"George," Meredith says accusingly. George stops dead in his tracks, like a deer caught in headlights. 

"Me?" he asks innocently.

"When you failed your exam and had to spend an extra year as an Intern, and than an extra year as a Resident, while we were all Attendings, didn't that bother you a little?" she asks. 

"Um." It's clear that he has no response.

"Didn't you ever feel like we might secretly be laughing at you behind your back? Did you ever wonder if we were calling you 007 again, all that sort of stuff – even though we never teased you openly?"  
Once again, he's speechless.

"That's the way I feel with Lexi. I feel like somewhere, she blames me for her mother's death. Somewhere, she hates me, mocks me, torments me – and I can't trust her. Even though she's given me no reason to _not_ trust her…" she pauses, fiddles with the key chain on her clipboard. "Whatever. Let's get back." 

None of us talk the rest of the way. 

After a long, hard day of work, the five of us meet up at Joe's. We smell like hospital. We feel like crap.

I'm the first to arrive, ready to get down to some hardcore drinking. Joe sees it in my face and willingly doles out the painkiller. I've already had five shots before the second partier arrives – fittingly, Alex. He grunts a greeting and takes twice as many shots as I've downed in half the time. I have to admire his tolerance.

Meredith comes hand-in-hand with McDreamy. Technically, it was only supposed to be the Original Five (which is what we've started to call ourselves in an offhand sort of way) but is anyone going to deny Mer a chance to ham it up with Derek? They each take a Budweiser and settle into a cozy, smoky booth in the privacy of the corner of the bar.

Izzie is in next, with George coming soon after. We sit at the bar and watch Meredith enjoy her perfect life. Shortly afterwards, as if to remind me of my sorrow, Burke comes in escorting Hahn. They totally disregard us, have a margarita, and slide into a booth on the opposite side of the bar from Derek and Meredith. I've had like twenty before I'm ready to go home.

We're all dead drunk, even Izzie. And Izzie is scary hyperactive when she's drunk. She ends up cabbing with George back to his place, and though most would be suspicious of two friends spending the night together, we all know that Izzie will pass out on the convertible sofa, and George will be either on the floor or in his bed snoring loudly. The two of them have no chemistry so far as lovers go. They're just best friends. 

Alex stumbles into me at the doorway and catches himself by putting his arms completely around my waist. He reeks of alcohol. It's vaguely disgusting, but overpoweringly sexy; especially when I'm so dazed I can't walk in a straight line.

"Can I go to your place?" he slurs, ready to sleep. 

"Why would you do that?" my voice isn't mine. Through the cloudy bar window, I see that Burke and Hahn are still happy in their little cocoon. 

"I'm… lonely." Is that pain in his voice? I look up and try to read his stupor-filled eyes, but his eyelids are cotton, drooping. He doesn't know what he's saying, but I take pity anyway. 

"Come on over, sleep on the sofa." I hail a cab and we get in, all over each other, unable to steady ourselves. 

Why am I inviting Alex Karev back to my place? When he's sober, he'll never let me get over this. But who cares – tonight's not a night to be alone.

The stars have faded to early morning by the time we reach my apartment. We barely make it up the stairs, slipping and sliding, clutching onto each other, laughing like a loving couple. Some of my elderly old neighbors come out and bang their canes at us, but we just make goofy faces and laugh at them. We probably look sort of scary, drunk as we are. I'm scaring myself. 

At the apartment, Karev gets right down to business, getting in his boxers and jumping onto the sofa comfortably. I toss a ratty quilt on him and pad into my bathroom, trying to refresh myself as much as possible before getting to bed. After numerous cold-water splashings on my face, I change to pajamas and get ready to crash. I'm not in at the hospital in the morning, so I can afford tonight's romp.

"Cristina?" just as I'm about to fade into blissful dream, Alex's groggy voice and slumped figure fill my doorway. I'm about ready to kick his butt out of my apartment. Without giving him his clothes back. 

I use a bunch of creative swearwords. "What?"

"I c-c-can't s-s-sleep." Is Alex Karev actually CRYING? Not on my watch.

"Put it together, Karev. Don't wear out your welcome." I fling a random pillow at him. He catches it with expert reflex. I see the muscles of his upper body flexing, and for some reason, am intrigued. 

"Cristina," he groans. I hear almost-desire in his voice, and a faint sort of nostalgia. 

"What's wrong with you?"

"I'm drunk."

"Clearly," I respond. Now I'm ticked off. I'm wasting rest on this loser.

"Do you have any alcohol in this dump?"

"It's not a dump, and if I do, I'm not giving it to you. Any more alcohol and you won't be able to think straight for a full year. Burke will doubly never speak to me again if I take away one of his orthos [Alex did become an ortho, following in Callie's very large [no offense footsteps."

"Screw Burke, he's a jerk." He laughs, amused by his rhyming skills.

"Get out before you receive a clout," I growl. Wow. I am so drunk I am actually participating in his retardation. I have to stop rhyming.

"Kiss me, or you'll miss me."

"I'm not playing that game,'' I say warningly, but he knows his power. He draws closer to the bed until he's sitting on the other side of the mattress; I feel the give of his weight.

"I'm not hitting on you, Yang. You're a driven Korean, definitely not my type. But I can't stay at a chick's apartment without at least scoring a kiss – it'll damage my rep. So just kiss me, with no chemistry or will – and know that I have no desire – so we can at least say this night resulted in _something._"

"We're two successful Attendings," I mumble into my pillow. Sentences are getting hard to put together.

"So?"

"So…. We don't need to 'score' kisses to feel good about ourselves…."  
"Yang," he teases, pulling back my covers a little and gently rolling me over. "Pretend I'm Momma Burke. You're so scared of me you'll do anything for me… just a kiss."

I sit up, peck his stubbly cheek, and then sink back down into my warm pillows. "Satisfied? Now screw off."

He leans over and pets my hair as if I'm some sort of cat. It borders on degradation. "'Night, Cristina," he says.

"Pssh." I smack at him blindly with the back of my left hand.

He catches it, kisses my middle finger, and gives it back. "I know what you were about to do, so I blessed it off," he laughs. He's making absolutely no sense and enjoying it. I have never seen Playboy Karev reduced to this state. It'll be fun to tease him about it afterwards…

He's about to leave now. I feel the mattress rise as he lessens his weight, preparing his legs to support him fully again when – 

He's back next to me. "Kiss me," he commands, and this time I obey simply because I have no more energy left to refuse him, and there's a kiss, that is warm and surprising, and we both are just sort of sitting there, rigid with shock, awoken from our drunkenness to find ourselves kissing in my apartment and him only in boxers. 

I break away first, humiliated. "What are we doing?" I am about to sock him in the stomach or catch him with a nifty left hook to convince him to never touch me again. 

But he needs no convincing. He jumps up, his eyes alight with confusion and shock. "Sorry, Yang," he says, at a loss for comebacks, and runs out of my room. I hear the sofa creak; at least he's still staying the night, but probably never coming close to me again. A good thing or a bad thing – I can't actually tell. 

In any case, I'm glad to go back to sleep. The last thing I see before blackness and hazy dreams is Karev's face, moonlit, surprised, horrified, and maybe secretly happy?

He's beautiful. 


End file.
